


By The Telephone / Lift Up The Reciever (I'll Make You A Believer)

by PansexualDonnaNoble



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fake Identities, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Texting, also posted on my tumblr, filling in missing scenes, implied doctor/master - Freeform, the doctor texting o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PansexualDonnaNoble/pseuds/PansexualDonnaNoble
Summary: She's only met him once.But they text.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95





	By The Telephone / Lift Up The Reciever (I'll Make You A Believer)

Back then - then, he's not sure what exactly in particular compels him to give the other his number.

Maybe the stars are cursed in the moment; misaligned, moody _malcontents_ \- screaming and aching to realign and erupt in a chaos known and reserved; and private. Private to... private.

Private.

_Private?_

He gives his number to O, in the sunshine sprung breathlessness of yet another end of the world plot thwarted. O, whose full name he never gets to know, too busy dodging alien attempts to have his head - along with the entire population of earth's - head cut off, to properly _demand_ \- or at least inquire for an answer to the question.

There's moments in their breaks between running and being doctory (he's very good at it) where the human seems to relent and tries to give him an answer, only for their predicament to catch up to them both. So sue him, if he forgot about the fact while caught up in all of it.

He would have been lying, and too absorbed in his ego, if he had said the other's help and scientific knowledge hadn't been vital in preventing the entire fiasco from succeeding. (Apparently, a few years ago, he had worked for some top secret organization or another. He wasn't sure which. They all blended together to him, and he didn't get the chance to ask more.) He's got the tech and the expertise the alien doesn't expect yet from most humans in the 21st century.

He likes to think the whole of it is Oliver. The name. His name. A dull - but fitting, in his opinion, name. A _cool_ name!

At the end of it; like clockwork, the world resolved to be quietly rescued. And out of sheer hope, there's a part of him that thinks O will ask to travel with him. After seeing what they've seen together.

In all honesty he _wants_ him to.

In his nine hundred years, The Doctor has never met a human who asked and _answered_ so many of all the right questions before. Whose smarts, felt almost as high as his were. (No offense of course, to the last hundred years of companions.)

O was - is, clever and witty - (but not _too_ witty, he hated witty people, you could hardly trust them, like thursdays personified!) remarkable, though most importantly - kind. A feat of his humanity, evidently.

It'd certainly be new for this version of himself; having someone other than the ponds along beside him in all of space and time - but he's confident the man would fit in swimmingly - he's known him for a total of eight hours yet there's a familiarity between them that haunts and eats away at his beating hearts like worms in apples; chipping away, fog stained breath on mirrors.

It... it is _refreshing._

Maybe he's more focused on _his_ ability to get along with him. But he knows Amy and Rory wouldn't mind... if they got to know him. So long as they knew he wasn't a replacement - Amelia would never let him hear the end of it otherwise if he didn't explain.

The soft, low whirling of the TARDIS provides the duo with background ambience, The Doctor, busied with hurriedly fluttering around the console - having only just remembered the other's request to take him back to his home somewhere in Australia of all places (he lived in Australia, once! Well, he says once, it might have been a few decades or so - or more.)

He does not see O's stares - galaxy grand gaze incarnate. Torn; between the result of a centuries old game of mouse and cat, lips curled, hidden upwards, and something... something...

Something that... _longs;_ the sweet sticky stench of oranges that desperately cry out to protest the parting between them and their branches.

The TARDIS sees. As she does. But she'd know them anywhere - any face. _Any mask._

With a groan the ship lands - crudely, O already shuffling over to the doors with a short, thankful, farewell. They open, as normal, but The Doctor whirls ahead, gaining speed as he parks his legs in front of him, slightly blocking the exit.

And suddenly, it's like he's some schoolboy. He's done this a thousand (literally) times before; and yet this is different - more awkward and infinitely more wishful. His shoes shifting between one world and the next, his fingers adjusting his bowtie, before lingering behind his back. He's far too excitable this regeneration.

"Doctor?" Asks O, quizzical, at the sudden fit. His bushy, dark brows raised in confused bemusement. "Uh - everything alright?"

He smiles. "Yes - of course they are, why wouldn't things be, I just saved the world - _we_ just saved the world, you and I." He states very obviously. The Doctor stares into his eyes. "Does that feel a certain way to you? It always does for me; even after the thousandth time."

O's face processes the question - Like he's choosing his words carefully; or more likely he's unsure of where this is going. Sizing him up.

"I... well, it's nice... to not be destroyed by er, angry aliens." He sheepishly grins. "Although... Doctor, it... it was... amazing. In a bizarre way."

"No, that's not bizarre, that's normal - when you're me at least." He reassures.

He chooses to bite the bullet, so to speak.

After a second of giddy silence. "How would you like to feel that way all the time?" He knows the question like his own TARDIS. "All of the world; and the universe, at your fingertips."

He doesn't think their paths will cross again; he remembers everyone but the universe hardly ever put him in the path of those not forgotten again. But he'd like to see him again.

Maybe he wants company - company; but not - real, that is. The true kind. He's got the TARDIS, most - some days now he's got the Ponds.

He's got himself; the closest to whatever exactly he's been devoid of. An... equal - no that wasn't it. The Ponds were and could be his equal.

Whole heartedly; The Doctor expects a yes from him. Who could say no to all of space and time, after all. Especially, someone like O.

But instead - though for a brief second there's an impossible, indecipherable, swirl of several existences on them, O's features turn _gloomy._

"I'd... wow, Doctor... that's quite... an offer." He chuckles, with a grin that's just teeth. "All of space and time..." He muses, though The Doctor doesn't at all remember mentioning the time part. "I don't even know what I want to do eight minutes from now on earth... it's a nice thought..."

 _Oh._ His frown appears. There's a but coming, a huge, thick, stinking, unfortunate, _but._

"But," O continued. Oh of course. "I... can't. I don't think i'm cut out for space travel - aliens were... never my thing. I think i'm better off sticking to the old outback - studying, learning."

"By yourself?" The bow tie wearing man softly responds - the lights of the TARDIS dancing on O's quiet, observing, face like a spotlight.

He shrugs. "It's not so bad. For the best, too. I got kangaroos out there to keep me company. Good mates, them." His eyes saunter downwards. "Besides, i'm the master when it comes to keeping myself from being bored out there." O admits; a twinkle upon and inside him. "Are you alone, Doctor? Out there? In your travels?"

"No, I haven't been for a while. I got friends - well; I suppose they're more than that, now - technically one of them is my mother in... well, it doesn't matter now..."

It's an odd thing to say - was it odd? Was he odd? Is that his thing? He _needs_ to have a _thing._ O certainly seems to think it is. But doesn't ask him to elaborate on his trailed off statement. Instead, he digs deeper.

"Back there - when we were fighting those things, you said you had two hearts... i'm assuming you aren't human either. Are there others like you? Friends or anything like that in whatever species you are?"

A tug. A terrible, tremendous, tantalizing, terrible tug. At both his hearts. Memories; races on bountiful, endless, hills. A bonfire that has swallowed someone old; someone enviously dear. Trench coat; old face.

"Once. Long ago. But... no, there's... it's just me now." The Doctor informs; sullen in expression but leveled in tone.

O endures a far off look. Both aware; of a silence. Something left behind in the trials of immortality.

The time lord inhales; hungrily. He claps his hands together nicely.

"Well, then. Off you go, O. _If that isn't_ your real name, which i'm sure it's not. Better get you back so you can _slip a shrimp on the barbie."_ In a horrendous accent, The Doctor darts back to the controls. A waiting look with him.

O's response seems mortified; and let down all at once.

"Ah? Ah? _No?_ Oh, get it, 'cos you live in Australia and... Ugh, aren't you just the comedy police, then. Accents are good, accents are _cool."_ His displeasure is front and center on him - rubbing his hands together.

What he gets for his troubles, in the end that day; is an embarrassed look, denied laughter - and - by O's own effort; the human's phone number - in case, the alien would ever need his help again.

Or, if he simply wanted to talk. He seemed to do an awful lot of it.

Wait... he'd have to get a cell phone then, wouldn't he...  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

 **D: Hello! 😜** **wowza** **! A face - sorry, I do not want to lick you! 😶🙄😮😞 those ARE a lot of faces, I am SORRY 😑 (this is the doctor by the way)**

**O: Oh... Doctor, it's nice to hear from you! Didn't... we just talk though? two hours ago? When you dropped me off...?**

**D: I travel through time and time is a tricky and** **unneeded** **concept 👁👄👁 (that's me staring at you - sorry i don't know how to blink on here I normally use a Telephone 😎) anyway, just popping in to check up on you, ☺ O. (do you even have a real name? Do humans name each other by single letters now?)**

**O: you're one to talk.**

**D: Fair enough, I suppose.**

**O: It's a nice name. I'** **ll** **show you mine if you show me yours 😉**

**D: A wink wonk? You lot can be so confusing sometimes... I suppose O is a nice name, but I don't have anything to show you...**

**D: Who did you work for, though? Or work for now? Your knowledge of tech and alien life is impressive for a human🙃 oh dear, he's upside down. I don't know how to delete things... 😳**

**O: You press... okay, actually, I used to work for MI6, but they... let me go a while back. But I don't think those... people knew what I know.**

**O: Because it's something i'** **ve** **always been interested in, I guess, you know?**

**D: I do! Humans can be very... you know, sometimes.**

**O: Oh, trust me I know.**

**O is typing...**

**D: Oh dear, something has hit the TARDIS, it's crashing 🤣😂 😳 I should probably fix that! What do the hip humans say? Got To Go?** **GTG** **? anyways,** 🤡 Oh a clown! How Nice,  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

He's underneath the floors of the console room; eyes obscured by the hefty weight of dark goggles on his eyelids. His neck is sore from the lengthy period of time that it has been looking downwards.

He was down here for a reason; yet he's certainly not making any progress - as wires and circuits dangle dangerously around him, he himself foolishly unaware of it, and that one wrong jostle could result in this life and love of bow ties coming tragically to the end.

O sent him something. Weird is not a term that fits perfectly; but whatever image he has been sent does its best to be the definition.

Apparently, it's a... meme? How fun!

His nose itches; and there's sounds of antsy footsteps bumbling down the steps of the room.

"Oi! Raggedy man!"

Something hits the itching spot; smacking and colliding with his darkened goggles, shoving them and startling him from his borderline trance. He blinks; registering the lonely sight of a biscuit on the ground below. It's difficult to tell; but the Time Lord is affronted.

"Oi, Pond!" He mimics, reaching down to pick up the piece of food. The Five Second Rule had no weight nor protest in the vacuum of space and time. "What'd you do that for?" He asks childishly, through a mouthful of food.

Amy leans against a beam, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. "You've been down here for a good fifteen minutes; nothings gotten fixed either. You said you'd take us to Paris, but the TARDIS is all busted. Are you planning on texting your boyfriend all day?"

He makes a noise. O was _not_ his boyfriend. He thinks? He's sure? They aren't dating. He's a married man, after all.

"O, is not my boyfriend!" He replies, with a shocked laugh.

"Fine, crush then, you two text every second of the day, you'd of scared him off with your constant emojis by now if I hadn't shown you that tutorial on youtube. It reminds me of when Rory first fancied me."

"That tutorial _was_ helpful, but, we are _not_ dating, and I do not _fancy_ O."

"Sure you don't. Why have you been down here for fifteen minutes staring at that screen, then?"

Had he been? For that long? "I was fixing Sexy up."

"You haven't done a good job of it then, It still can't go anywhere." Calls Rory, from above both of them, somewhere in the console room.

The Doctor sighed. There was something to it, texting O, that he couldn't express to either of them without it sounding like it was something more than what it really was.

"Thank you for your input, you two, but, if you could excuse me, i'm busy being clever and efficient in fixing her up." After a second or two; he sets the phone down, and gets back to work - or finally starts work, on the wires around them, fidgeting in his makeshift seat.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
History repeats itself; and a tale as old as as himself - he finds himself alone - _again._

Selfishly he thinks - that for a moment, Amelia will come back to him; endure the pain and loss of her husband, endure the sensation that pricks his thumb with vengeance and follows him through each life. And return to the TARDIS, and soldier on through the galaxy.

He knows its an impossible ask - The girl who waited has floated through the streets; emptied of such patience.

 _It's not_ an ending; it's not. All she has to do - all _he_ has to do, is persuade her - he's just lost Rory - one pond - he doesn't know if he can withstand losing another. Not now. Not here. Not her. He knows this song but Amelia Pond is not a melody he wishes to see in it.

All she has to do is walk backwards into the TARDIS; unblinking.

But Amy blinks. And Amy no longer waits.

But he's also The Doctor; and being The Doctor, he mourns - And then he returns; swaggering off to the blue box before him. Without country; nor home.

Alone. Again. Not alone; he's got her - the TARDIS; and River. Though, it's not...

Ah, he's lived too long.

He's somewhere in the void of space; deep, dark, endless nothing and everything - all consuming all deleting. When beside him; the phone chirps.

It's horrifying; briefly, because he's so hidden in his own thoughts that he's forgotten the world existed.

He ignores it - two minutes after it chirps again.

Since he got the thing; there had only been five numbers saved in it.

Two of those people are now dead. River doesn't ever text him. Bobo The Clown still doesn't know how to work the phone he irresponsibly gifted him. Which only meant it was one other person.

He huffs misplaced, fed up air through his nostrils; reaching for the device. He breaks away from the console - turning it on.

 **One New Message: O: I'** **ve** **finally got a better joke than yours.**

 **One New Message: O: What do you get when a foolhardy** **physician** **climbs a tower with a dashing genius / madman?**

He chews his lips; debating on whether or not to continue fiddling aimlessly with the controls. And then types back.

**D: Not now, O.**

A pause.

 **O: A nice flight and a win for the** **dashing** **, handsome, genius madman, of course.**

He stares down at the screen; unfazed by the punchline he doesn't care. His bow tie is suffocating; oppressive like a bone tired, humiliating regime. There's a taste of copper in his mouth and it bleeds the raging loneliness of sulphur smells that replaces the gospel godliness godhood of fish fingers and custard. He sets it back down and another two minutes pass before its beeping forces him to see it again.

**O: Tough crowd tonight / today**

**O: ...everything alright?**

He exhales. What in the world does he say to that? He should say _something_ back. Lest he lose another friend this week.

The Doctor swallows.

**D: My friends, the two Ponds I told you about? Are... gone. Dead.**

Typing it carries more weight than thinking it. It's disgusting. Ungodly like a dalek heathen.

**O: Oh no... that... sucks.**

He blinks. Twisting his brows.

**O: I phrased that badly. That's terrible, Doctor. I'm sorry, from the bottom of my hearts. From what you've told me of them... they seemed very.... nice. This must be hard for you.**

**O: Heart. Sorry.**

**D: They are - were. And it very much is. I don't know what to do from here, if i'm honest. Or if I should continue with any of this.**

He's being truthful with him. Very truthful. He doesn't know if he'd tell River this if she was here. It's easy with O. He doesn't like how easy it is. But it's nice. Right now.

**O: And what exactly does 'any of this' mean?**

It meant...

The Doctor was very, very, old. His hearts were young but they knew the siren call of immortal strife. And the loneliness. He just...

 **D: Traveling. That sort of stuff. I'** **ve** **been told I shouldn't do it alone. But every person I bring along ends up worse than they were before they came with.**

Not all of them. Some lived. Some died. It was a gamble. All for his own ego and need to be adored. But it was getting harder to move on from it.

**O: Is it such a bad idea to do it alone? Is it the end of the world if you're left to yourself?**

**D: Yes.**

**O: Surely it's not all on you though. The people you bring from the streets, they know the risk.**

**D: I have a duty of care with them. Whoever comes along. I let them come, I should be there to keep them safe.**

**O is typing...**

What good was a time machine; infinite access to galaxies and wonders of the agonizingly wondrous world - if it became a death sentence? Or left you alone, in the end.

**O: Oh, Doctor, all your faces, and you still haven't changed, have you?**

**D: What?**

**O: Nothing. I'm sure though you're being too hard on yourself. Giving up all of it? Because of them?**

**D: They were my friends; family even.**

**O: Of course. Still.**

**O: You should think it all over, though. People in the galaxies might be rather bored if you disappear.**

**D: My enemies certainly wouldn't be.**

**O: You'd be surprised, I reckon.**  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

The world ends; startling rebirth renewed. And begins again. A breath taken; first and deeply desired. Every ends and everything begins. And he restarts a new man.

An angrier, more scottish, man.

For the first seven weeks; he's far too caught up in the grand scheme of things, rebirth rebirth, restart, redo. He's certain he's someone and then he's certain he's another. Post regeneration is a terrible, idiotic, lottery.

Clara distrusts him. Clara trusts him. Clara trusts him. Clara distrusts him.

His eyebrows are always in a rage.

After eight weeks it eases up; all of it. More or less. There's still so much of himself to learn but he's far too busy saving the world all over again to stop and reflect about any of it.

After nine; he finds his cell phone in the pockets of his former regeneration's coat, hidden and scurried away in the TARDIS wardrobe.

Out of boredom, and because Clara hid his guitar after he wouldn't stop playing it one trip, he manages to find a charger for it - and allows itself to recuperate before turning it on.

**Twelve Missed Messages**

**Eight Weeks Ago:**

**O: I was thinking about your second offer**  
 **O: But it's still best if I stay here. Might get** **space sick** **and hurl all over your nice tidy spaceship.**  
 **O: But maybe one day, who knows, maybe i'** **ll** **surprise you 😉**

**Three Weeks Ago**

**O: You do remember in order to keep friendships you have to interact sometimes right?**

**O: Or have you been kidnapped by... what were those things called? Daleks?**

**O: Do you need a daring rescue?**

**O: Or from Cybermen?**

**O: I think those are what those things are called... my research only goes so far.**

**Two Days Ago**

**O: Not to seem as the youths say nowadays, 'desperate', however,**

**O: I'd feel very comforted by the knowledge that you are in fact, not dead.** **Permanently** **that is.**

 **O: Unless** **Trenzalore** **is too cool and dazzling to deal with anything else.**

**O: Excluding me of course 😏**

He stares down at the messages; a wave of annoyance at the sight of emojis. Or - two at least.

How insufferable.

 **D: I'm sure you'** **ll** **be positively in shambles to know no glorified plungers took me against my will.**

**D: But I did die, so there's that to frown about I suppose.**

He sits down, tapping a rhythm against his legs, impatient.

**O: That's... good? I mean, not the dead part... how are you texting me then? Is the afterlife real?? 🤯**

**D: Long story. Old age, regeneration, blah blah blah. I'm not the person you texted before. Well - I am and am not. I'm certainly older and more cross. Your use of emojis feels like a threat to me now somehow.**

**O: Alright... 😎 sorry if the sight of this sends you into a baby boomer rage 😳😬**

"Baby..." He's not a baby!

What was a baby boomer?

"Siri," He orders, as his scottish tone booms through the TARDIS, both his legs. on the console. "What is a baby boomer?"

"A person born in the years following World War II, when there was a temporary marked increase in the birth rate."

Well, he certainly wasn't born between that time.

**D: I'm no baby, or a boomer, and i'm definitely no baby boomer.**

**O: Okay.**

**O: Boomer. 😎🤡**  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

They don't really talk that much.

It's not a conflict of different personality; as uppity as he was, O seems to have no qualms about his new attitude or entire being. If anything, The Doctor is sure he seems to find it charming.

Was he charming?

They don't fade out - or drift apart through the years, they keep in contact through short but meaningful bursts of contact. Playful insults here, unsettlingly meaningful conversations there.

The texts feel odd. He doesn't like odd. They don't meet; even as time moves forward, they never meet. They exist for each other in messages through the use of technology ironically neither fully gets.

It's _intimate._ Somehow. Keyboard softness, intimacy through off putting words and bouts of something familiar. Something he swears and sworn to know. Certain phrases; certain tones. Something missed.

But then he's thrown in for a loop; literally. And he found himself passed and outdone by years turned into millions.

Clara is still gone. And then she's gone in different ways.

Admittedly; he fails to text much after all of this.

**D: Happy New Year, O.**

**O: ? It's... August for me. But.... Happy New Year? To you too?**  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
This time; birth is a golden hymn of glorious second chance.

Her existence; chorus screamed new and hopeful - is built and made on a promise.

She finds the phone laid out on display underneath the floors of the console room. In the makeshift seat she uses for repairs a few days after finally getting her new friends (fam?) home. Or, at least able to have that option now.

**D: Hi! It's been... possibly a while hasn't it? 😬😱**

**O: Clearly your definition and my definition of 'a while' are two different things.**

**O: It's been an entire year.**

**D: 😪 I am sorry!! I got very old 😞 and very cranky 🙄 and sad 😔 I hope you can forgive me 🤕 and still text me! 🤔 (or join me, that's still an option!) also I know how to use backspace now!!!! 😲**

**O: I am... going to assume you died again? Your renewed interest in emojis is very telling.**

**D: I did! I'm a woman now! Isn't that brilliant? ☺**

**O: Are you now? Interesting.**

**D: Now I know how Missy felt after all that time a bloke.**

**O: Missy...? I don't think you'** **ve** **ever mentioned someone named that?**

**O: Is she a friend? A girlfriend?**

At first it's a jolt; but it feels closer to nostalgia. Or pain. Or both.

Or let down anger. She pushes it down.

She tried her best.

**D: No. She was... is.. ? a friend... There was a... battle. I thought she would be by my side but... I guess I was wrong. About her.**

It's uncomfortable. Talking about it and her. Dying she has no qualms about discussing, but...

Missy... left. Years spent reforming wasted.

She had thought...

Maybe they could be the same... again.

**O: Were you?**

**D: Huh?**

**O: Wrong about her... maybe she had a reason for not being with you.**

**D: Like?**

She looks up from the phone for a second; and when she looks down again, fresh faced with uncomfortable flashed grimaces, there is a bubble again and three dots.

Then they disappear. Then return; then vanquish each other once more. The Doctor shifts.

**D: I'm sure she had her reasons; maybe not good ones. It doesn't matter.**

**D: Can we talk about something else now?**  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

**O: This number still works right? 🙄😘**

**D: All these years. Do not. Don't you dare play smug with me.**

**O: Sheesh whose planet was destroyed and made you ruler?**

**D: Don't test me. You went too far.**

**O: Oh i'm sure you know all about going go far.**

**D: That was different. And I fixed it.**

**O: It had to be done. You don't know what they'** **ve** **been hiding. All these years from us.**

 **D:** **Enlighten** **me then.**

**D: I know you got the message. I said enlighten me.**

**O: In due time. Consider yourself lucky to not have to know what they'** **ve** **done.**

**D: Master.**

**D: Answer me.**


End file.
